


Drinking Partner

by ghostfacekillmonger



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Yahya Abdul-Mateen II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:00:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23383444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostfacekillmonger/pseuds/ghostfacekillmonger
Summary: You and Yahya share an awkward morning after a night either of you barely remember.
Relationships: Yahya Abdul-Mateen II/Black!Female!Reader, Yahya Abdul-Mateen II/Black!Reader, Yahya Abdul-Mateen II/Reader
Kudos: 4





	Drinking Partner

-The last thing Yahya remembered was taking the final shot of Bombay Sapphire and dancing to an Isley Brothers deep cut from your vinyl collection. This was your typical Saturday night routine when you were both free. He’d bring a bottle and you’d cook whatever was left in your icebox at the end of that week. The two of you would eat, get drunk, and laugh like idiots all night long.

If Yahya was too far gone, as he was most of the time, he knew he could crash on your couch. You kept a special pillow and blanket in the hall closet just for him and he used them often. As much as he wanted to lay with you, and lay next to you, he was never sober enough. It would be a waste of your time for him to be sloppy and a waste of his for him to be too drunk to remember. Your bed was sacred. It was for lovers. He intended to be one someday.

The breeze from your open window was the first thing to stir him. He had urged you to keep it closed for fear of intruders, but the liquor always made you hot. The seasons were changing and it was honestly the perfect time to let fresh air in. He couldn’t argue with that. As the morning sun beamed through the thin curtains, his eyes fluttered open. Both you and your shiny black kitten, Pete, were softly snoring on his chest. And the three of you were all in your bed.

It was a scene he had always imagined, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember how he got there.

“Morning, little guy,” Yahya whispered, giving the kitten a soft scratch on his head. Pete yawned and stretched, his tiny claws snagging on Yahya’s t-shirt. 

Pete couldn’t start his day without your attention, so if he was awake, that meant you had to be as well. He meowed loudly and kneaded at your cheek until you finally reached up to pet him. To your surprise, there was also an arm wrapped around your waist, and a heaving chest under your head. You popped up to see Yahya’s confused face and a startled Pete curling up under his chin.

“Uh, good morning…”

“Yeah…” You arched your eyebrow and looked around the room. Nothing was out of place and your pajamas were still on. “Yeah, good morning. Um…” You’d consider your friendship with Yahya to be intimate, although the two of you had never been. Not for lack of desire, the time just hadn’t come yet. You had held his head up while he vomited in your bathroom and he’d seen you strip down to your underwear after too much Everclear. Even through all of that, the two of you had never shared a bed. 

“Should I go? I think I should go. Yeah, I’mma go…” Yahya carefully placed Pete on the bed and swung his long legs over the side. He popped up too fast and stumbled around the room, still unbalanced from his hangover. 

“No, you need something on your stomach.”

“I’m good, really -”

“Grits or oatmeal?” You let Pete settle in the sheets before getting up and walking out of the door. Yahya took the hint and followed you into the kitchen. He sat down at the small table you had, still dirty with last night dishes. He stacked the plates and glasses as you turned on the stove eye. “ _I said_ , grits or oatmeal?”

“Grits. Cheesy if you don’t mind.” Yahya slouched down in the chair and held his pounding head. “You got some of that turkey bacon left?”

“This ain’t Waffle House, don’t get too fancy.”

Your friend chuckled to himself while watching you fill a pot with water and place it on the stove. You shuffled through your cabinets and found the last two packets of instant grits. He could take both of those down by himself, so it looked like you’d be the one eating oatmeal. Coincidently, there was some turkey bacon left and a couple of eggs. Outside of the sounds of boiling water and sizzling grease, the kitchen was quiet while you cooked. Even little Pete knew the room was awkward and opted for a seat on the couch instead of playing around your feet.

As bread toasted and bacon fried, you tried your best to recall the events of the night before. You were elbow-deep in cornmeal and fish grease when Yahya finally arrived Saturday evening, a liter of gin in tow. He cracked a few windows to let the apartment air out, but even through the pungent scent of catfish, you could still smell weed on him, mixed with his earthy cologne. He kissed your cheek, lingering longer than usual, and made Pete his own bowl of food. During dinner, you drank your gin straight; Yahya took his with a splash of lemon. With bellies full and inhibitions lowered, it would have been time for a movie but Yahya found himself in your record collection instead. Pete perched on his shoulder and holding on for dear life, Yahya danced to everything from Chicago to Marvin Gaye. That is until he found one of your favorite albums - The Isley Brothers’ _The Heat Is On_. You managed to take one last shot of gin before Yahya pulled you in for a slow dance. His breath was warm against your cheek as he sang along to the song. 

Everything else was a blur.

It was fun to watch Yahya make a hodgepodge of his breakfast foods in the mornings. Cheese, eggs, and grits stacked between two slices of bread with apricot preserves, accompanied by a glass of orange juice that may or may not still have had a little bit of liquor at the bottom. You ate cinnamon oatmeal and took your coffee as black as he was. 

As many nights as you touched and flirted, you had no doubts that he would be a great lover. He was the perfect balance of gentle and assertive. Passionate. And one of the most gorgeous men you’d ever had the pleasure of knowing. 

You watched him eat for a few more minutes until you couldn’t take the weird silence anymore. The tension was killing you and you just had to ask. “Yahya did we…”

His eyebrows shot up and he shook his head vigorously.

“No! No? I don’t think so…I would never…without asking of course.”

“Oh…” You sighed. Finally, you released the tautness you were holding in your body and relaxed. You scraped your bowl for what was left of your oatmeal, assuring yourself there was still a chance to have him the right way.

“But, um, the day is early…” Yahya looked up at you with a glint of mischief in his eyes. He swallowed the bits of food in his mouth and licked his lips clean. “We still can.”


End file.
